


sacrament

by besselfcn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Minor Injuries, Sewing, vague sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 21:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15872394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besselfcn/pseuds/besselfcn
Summary: This feels like the most intimate thing he’s yet been allowed to do.





	sacrament

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cloudraws](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cloudraws).



> For a prompt from @cloudraws: the boys being soft and caring about each other in little ways. Thanks for your donation <3

Jesse’s seen, touched,  _ known _ just about every inch of Reyes’s body, at this point. Stripped down in the shower with him. Sat with his feet on Reyes’s desk as he worked. Sat  _ under _ Reyes’s desk as he worked, digging nails into his thighs, letting himself take and be taken--

And yet. This feels like the most intimate thing he’s yet been allowed to do.

A mission went tits-up; bad intel left them outnumbered, left Jesse sprinting for his life and their extraction target lost in the ashes and Reyes took three heavy rounds to the arm, swore and cursed as they dragged themselves out of the line of fire. 

Though he didn’t seem too worried then about the flesh, then. Doesn’t seem too worried now. Jesse’s not surprised, seeing how fast the man heals. He swears if he looks long enough at the three little punctures, he can see them stitching themselves up, right before his eyes. 

What he’s focused on now--what he’s been focused on since they got back to base, since Jesse tried to walk back to his own quarters on shaking legs and Reyes had told him  _ come on, dumbass, come to my room _ and Jesse had followed in half a stupor _ \-- _ is his uniform. 

Careful fingers had washed out the bloodstains. Pried strips of skin out of the synthetic hatching. And now, from the foot of the bed where he’d sat and not had the energy to move, Jesse watches with a cautious sort of reverence as Reyes weaves a needle and thread in and out, in and out, pulling the fabric taut. 

Maybe it’s a ritual, he thinks, watching the way the creases of Reyes’s face deepen with each motion of the thread. Like how Jesse takes apart Peacekeeper after a job, bit by bit. Shines it down, puts it back together. Always makes something snap in his chest, when all those pieces fit back together again. Good as new. 

Maybe it’s just something that bugs him. Gotta wash off the blood. Gotta scrub off the dirt. Gotta stitch up the uniform. 

Maybe he just likes it.

Jesse’s not sure when the shaking in his hands stopped. Or the fluttering in his gut. Sometime after when he sat down in here and now, he felt most of the tension wring out of his neck. Stopped feeling the way he did out there on the field, all adrenaline and surety that he’d die. 

Don’t feel like he’ll die, now. Seems like Reyes’d never let that happen. At least not out there.

Maybe in here, though. Might melt away. Disappear into the fabric, in between the movements of Reyes’s hands.

Not a bad way to go.

“Ah, fuck,” Reyes suddenly spits, and Jesse’s head snaps up in time to see a spot of blood welling on the tip of Reyes’s thumb. Needle prick. Slipped up.

He raises his hand to his mouth; before it gets there, and before Jesse’s sure what he’s doing, he’s caught Reyes’s wrist with one hand.

“Jesse,” Reyes says--not a warning, or a question. Just a statement. This is who you are.

He brings the pad of Reyes’s thumb to his tongue. Blood pressed onto the tongue. Reyes’s fingers digging into his chin. 

He lets go.

Reyes doesn’t.

“Jesse,” Reyes says again. 

For the first time since the mission, Jesse feels like he can breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> For more info on McReyes Charity Week, see [here](https://twitter.com/mcreyes4charity)!


End file.
